Similarities
by Theseus
Summary: Written for kmeme@Livejournal. f!Tabris can't help but notice the similarities between Alistair and Anders and decides to use the mage to get over the new King. Bitterness and a bit of slapping included, hurrah! Potentially more to be added later.


It was easy to miss the similarities between them at first, at least any that went past appearance. That on its own had been unsettling enough, _startling_ enough, when she'd realized it. She'd been too distracted with what was happening in the Vigil to notice it all when she saw him the first time, and just as it was starting to occur to her, it was as though the Maker laughed in her face. Alistair, the _King_ thanks to her, had shown up just after she had settled matters. It was though he'd come simply to remind her of his existence. As if she could forget.

After he'd gone, ridden out of sight with the company of men he'd brought with him, she'd turned and really _looked_ at Anders for the first time. The stubble on his cheeks, the color of his hair, his eyes...they could have been brothers. It was the smirk that got her, though; that smirk full of false confidence - one brow raised, the corner of his lips curled in amusement that was as much falseness and fear as it was humor. Alistair had been the master of that smirk. He would rather people see it than anything else.

Looking at him, each time thinking of Alistair, should have upset her. In the beginning she had thought that it would and had left him at the Vigil more than once because of it. Cerelinde had spent too many tears on the King, however, and soon she'd realized that she had none left for him. What she had was resentment and no small amount of anger. She'd made a fool of herself for him, at least where she was concerned. She could've gone back to her family, could have traveled, maybe even gone with Sten to see Seheron, but what had she done? She'd stayed in Denerim, remaining at the court as a chancellor. Part of her always hoped it would make Alistair change his mind, that seeing her would pain him as much as looking at him caused her grief. It hadn't, at least not that she could tell.

So he became a Grey Warden and she watched him, listening as he used his jokes the same way his _Majesty_ had, once upon a time. "All I want is a pretty girl, a decent meal, and the right to shoot lightening at fools," he'd said, and she knew just by looking at him that acting on the first part of that would've made him retreat, just like Alistair had. He'd wanted to _love_ her before anything happened between them, and he'd made her love him in the process, only to have neither matter in the end. For all the nonsense that Anders talked, she wondered if he would be the same way, and after they had journeyed to Amaranthine for the first time she decided that he'd best hope that he was not. In that, they needed to be different. She'd make them different.

The darkspawn paid for her frustration and now...now she thought she had found a better way. It was after hearing Anders speak with Nathaniel that she made her decision. Nathaniel had asked of the templars, how they always managed to find the mage, and he'd been answered with a joke. "You're impossible to talk to," he'd said, and Anders replied that he did his best. Just like Alistair would've. The King must have heard that a hundred times before. There was no way to ignore their similarities, but she found that she didn't want to try. What she wanted to do was let Anders know everything that Alistair would not, and few words were going to be involved in it.

That night, she booked them rooms in the Crown and Lion Inn. They'd come there looking for Kristof, but it was too late in the evening to leave the city again and she meant to speak with the Constable the next day besides. They'd given the bartender a good bit of business, or at least Oghren had. Nathaniel had stayed only a short while before taking his bow and disappearing behind his door for the rest of the evening. Anders was bleary-eyed when he'd left, though he'd not drank much. In that, too, he was like Alistair. Her fingers clenched tighter around the handle of her mug when she realized it. She waited awhile longer, enough time for him to be settled but not asleep, before she left Oghren spouting off nonsense and half-remembered pub songs to the dwarven bartender.

Nathaniel had taken the room furthest down the hall and, conveniently, Anders had chosen the one next to hers. They were small, these rooms. The inn was well kept enough but it was by no means a palace. Not that she cared. Cerelinde was sick of palaces and courts. Slender fingers raised to knock on his door and for a moment she thought she'd waited too long, that he was already asleep, but eventually she heard the knob turn and the door swung open. Anders had already changed out of his robes and stood dressed in loose clothing fit for sleep. His hair was down, a little out of control from where he'd no doubt already been laying down. She felt a pang in her chest, deep and unwanted, when she remembered how Alistair had looked waking up next to her – always a little disheveled, but a smile would creep onto his face when he saw her. Anders just looked confused. "...Something I can do for you, my Lady?"

Cerelinde gave herself permission to enter and once Anders had turned, brows knit in confusion, she nodded toward the door. "Close it." She saw his hesitation. Maybe he thought she'd changed her mind, that she was about to tell him to leave. Maker only knew. Either way, she didn't care. When he didn't comply quickly enough she did it herself, sliding the lock into place. A nervous laugh came from the mage, "Well this is...unexpected. Did I do something bad? Did you come up here to _punish_ me? Oh, I do hope so." Still joking, but she could hear the hesitance in his voice. After all, she was a formidable woman. More had died at her hands than at those of the most capable general.

Her answer was simple. "Yes."

She had just enough time to see his eyes go wide before she kissed him, hands instantly disappearing in his hair to bring him down toward her. Her grip was tight, maybe tight enough to prevent him from pulling away, but at first he didn't even try. That surprised her. Maybe he'd had more ale than she thought. But no, she'd not wanted him to pull away. _Alistair_ would have pulled away. The kiss was insistent, a cold desperation behind it, and when she finally did break it Anders seemed to not know what to say. "I...well...that was unexpected.." and if he meant to add more, she didn't give him time. Her fingers curled into his sleeping clothes and she pulled him toward the little bed in the corner, only barely big enough for two people. No matter. She didn't plan to be _beside_ him. She pressed him back until his legs hit the side of the bed, causing them to buckle and allowing him to land with a bit of a dull 'thud' on the mattress. It sank with his weight and he looked up to her, "Not that I don't find you...you know...I mean, I'm not complaining, but why the sudden..?" And there he was struggling for words just like she knew he would. Grey eyes swept over his face, her expression unreadable. "You remind me of someone."

If he planned to ask more, she wasn't going to let him. Her hands found his shoulders, pushing him onto his back, and with one leg on either side of his waist she straddled him. Already she could feel him stirring beneath her weight, the thin fabric of his sleeping clothes doing nothing to hide it. Cerelinde didn't plan to draw it out, didn't need him to encourage her or do her any 'favors'. She wanted him and she'd have him, so she wasted no time stripping his clothes away from him. Anders let her do it, still wearing a look of surprise, though now it was intermingled with growing desire. She stepped away from him only long enough to begin to undress herself, fingers moving nimbly over the stays of her armor so that piece by piece it could fall away. He'd not moved from where she pushed him back, but when she stood bare in front of him she saw him sit up and begin to reach for her, fingers itching to touch her.  
Her hand struck out almost of its own volition, palm landing hard enough against his cheek to turn it red. The words she spoke came out in a near hiss, "Don't touch me." Anders laid his hand against the place she'd struck him, a dozen different emotions flickering over his face. "But I..." Cerelinde pushed him back down to the mattress again, reaching to pull his hand away from his cheek. Their lips met and for a moment she thought he wouldn't return the kiss this time, but after a few seconds his lips parted beneath hers just as they had before. He'd let her have it her way. Perfect. She meant to, anyway.

The kiss lingered longer this time than it had before as she pressed herself against him, feeling his member twitch against her. Whatever he might be _thinking_, it was clear that his body wanted the same thing she did. Her fingers slipped down between them to wrap around him, drawing a gasp out of the mage. She raised herself up just enough to guide him against her entrance, sinking down on top of him inch by inch until she felt him fully within her. Anders groaned beneath her and lifted one hand as if he meant to grasp her hip with it, but she saw him stop just shy of it and let his arm fall back against the mattress. A fast learner, the mage. Her fingers splayed out over his chest as she began to move herself on top of him, eyes fluttering closed. Maker, even his body felt the same.

She rocked her hips languidly, slowly at first, dark hair spilling over her shoulders as she let her head fall back. Her pulse quickened in her throat and she could already feel Anders shifting beneath her, pushing himself deeper inside of her. This time, she let him do it, but still he kept his hands against the bed as if she'd bound them there. It was when her breathing became more shallow that she leaned down to kiss him again, hands wandering over his cheeks, feeling the prickle of his stubble against her fingertips. With her eyes still closed, it was no mage she was perched atop, it was no mage who filled her and made her blood run hot in her veins. _You remind me of someone_. And oh, Maker, he did, so much that it hurt her and at the same time gave her more satisfaction that she would've drawn from anything else.

Her movements became hurried and finally she did let him reach for her and turn her, his weight holding her against the mattress as he pushed into her and out again. She opened her eyes to see his, glazed in pleasure though they were, and wondered if he'd figured it all out yet. It didn't seem to matter. His thrusts came faster, harder against her, and her teeth sank hard into her lip when she felt her pleasure come. Fingernails dug into his shoulders hard enough to draw blood as it took her, wave after wave of it, and she laid against the pillows in a daze to watch him. She saw the brows knit, lips parted in heavy breaths, and as he moaned she felt him take his pleasure. The warmth of his release filled her and seeing his face that way, so painfully familiar and yet at once different, made her throat constrict.

She pulled away from him as soon as she could and swung her legs over the side of the bed, limbs feeling heavy and weak from their exertions. "You're leaving?" she heard him ask from behind her, but she didn't give an answer. Instead, she merely gathered her armor, dressing in just enough of it to cover her as she left and went to her own room. She heard the mattress move as if he'd stood up to come after her, but she closed his door before he had the chance.

It'd have to do.


End file.
